


Without Question

by grey853



Category: due South
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/grey853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray finds out something important about himself and his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Question

**Author's Note:**

> This story won Best Hurt/Comfort story at the 2003 Serge Awards.

**Without Question**  
by Grey  
[Grey853@aol.com](mailto:Grey853@aol.com?subject=Without%20Question)

* * *

"Ow, ow, ow." 

"Dear God, Ray, stop being a baby. It'll take down the swelling." 

Ray glared at Fraser, took the bag, and held the ice pack to his cheek. He leaned back against the sofa cushion and closed his eyes, his head still spinning from the jolt from Dewey's lucky punch. "Quit it." 

"What?" 

"Staring." 

"Ray, your eyes are closed. How can you possibly know that I'm even looking in your direction?" 

Eyes still shut, Ray smirked. "Am I right?" 

"Well, yes, but that's not the point." 

"The only point is, stop staring." Ray waited a few seconds and opened his eyes. "Why are you still gawking?" 

"I'm trying to understand the nature of your constant contention with Detective Dewey." 

"He's a jerk." 

"Perhaps, but from all accounts, you threw the first blow in your latest altercation." 

"And I'd do it again. Asshole deserved a good punch in the nose." 

"For what reason?" 

No way could he tell Fraser what that son of a bitch said, no way. "Look, it doesn't matter. If it hadn't been today, it would've been tomorrow, or the next day. The idiot says stuff, stupid shit that pushes my buttons." 

Fraser dropped his Stetson on the stack of papers littering Ray's coffee table and then sat down in the chair by the sofa. "What buttons would those be, Ray?" 

"Never mind." 

"Ray..." 

"Leave it alone, Fraser. I don't want to talk about it." 

A few seconds passed before Fraser spoke quietly. "Perhaps it was when he called me queer." 

Ray went tight all over, the sound of Dewey's slimy laugh and goading all too loud in his head. He hated Fraser knowing what the prick said, what the little cunt said about his best friend and partner, like it was any of his fucking business. "You heard that?" 

"Yes, and if I'm not mistaken, it's not the first time he's used that particular taunt when trying to get your lamb." 

"Get my lamb? You mean get my goat?" 

"Yes, goat, get your goat. Sorry." 

Frowning, Ray sat up. He dropped the ice pack from his throbbing cheekbone and stared at Fraser in disbelief. "Are you saying you knew he's been running his mouth?" 

"For some time, yes." 

Fraser's expression never changed, stayed calm, not even the least bit upset. "It doesn't bother you?" 

"Why should it?" 

Uneasy, Ray got up and took his ice pack to the sink and dried his hands. He crossed his arms, hunched his shoulders, and then walked back into the living room where Fraser still sat patiently waiting for an answer. "Okay, okay, let me explain something." 

"Explain what, Ray?" 

"When Dewey calls you queer, he's not talking about you being a freak, okay? He's not teasing like when I say stuff." 

"I understand that." 

Ray popped his neck with a quick jerk, not quite sure if Fraser really got what he was saying, really saw the whole picture. "Listen, Fraser, here in Chicago if someone calls you queer the way Dewey does, it's not a good thing. We fight about shit like that." 

"But Detective Dewey didn't refer to you as queer, Ray. He used it in reference to me. Why should you have to fight about that?" 

"Because you're my partner. A guy can't say shit like that about another guy's partner and not get popped." 

"I still don't see the compulsion to engage in juvenile and unprofessional conduct at the stationhouse over petty insults. At some point, Lt. Welsh will be forced to deal directly with the situation. You could end up with an official reprimand when it's totally unnecessary." Fraser hesitated for the first time. "Besides, Ray, I hate seeing your face damaged." 

"Fuck my face, Fraser. You're sitting there telling me you don't care if some idiot calls you queer. Canadians don't have a temper, don't get pissed, don't ever lose it?" 

"Well, you know that's not true, Ray. You've seen my bad temper on several occasions." 

"Like when?" 

"Just the other day I was reprimanding Diefenbaker about eating too many doughnuts and being slothful. I was, indeed, quite fussy about the whole thing." 

Ray ran a frustrated hand through his spiky, blond hair. He just didn't get it, didn't get this whole, it's not a big deal thing Fraser had about stuff, stuff that really mattered. "That's not losing your temper, Fraser. Me punching a hole in the wall or decking Dewey, that's temper." 

"Still, that doesn't explain why you have the compulsion to defend me to Detective Dewey. I assure you, it's totally unnecessary. In fact, in the future I would very much prefer you didn't." 

"I can't do that, Fraser. He runs his mouth and I'm going to pop him, that's all there is to it." 

"Ray..." 

"I'm serious. I swear, I don't get you. How can you just sit there and be all cool about shit like that?" 

Fraser tugged at his left ear and didn't meet Ray's intense gaze. "Well, for one thing, if I understand the context of the expression, it's true." 

Stunned didn't even cover it. Ray sank into the nearby chair, his mind all completely out of whack. He finally managed a few hushed words. "You're kidding, right?" 

"Not at all." 

"You're gay?" 

"I suppose one could say I'm functionally bisexual, but yes, I'm more attracted to men than women in general, so yes, I'm essentially homosexual." 

"Fuck." Ray lifted his head in shock, about as bowled over as the night Stella served up the divorce papers. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Fraser leaned forward, his voice apologetic, but firm. "Well, it's not a regular topic of discourse for me, Ray. I consider one's sexuality a very private matter." 

"But I'm your partner, your best friend. We're supposed to be buddies." 

Swallowing hard, Fraser met his eyes. "Yes, I'd like to think so." 

"This is so not buddies, Fraser. You tell your best friend stuff like this." 

"Why?" 

"Why?" 

"Yes, why, Ray? It's not like we're a couple." 

Suddenly flustered by the whole conversation, Ray stood and started to pace the room. "Well, no, we're not a couple, but that's not the point." 

"What is the point?" 

"The point is, well, fuck, I don't know what the point is." Totally wired, running a hand through his hair, he tried to figure out how in the hell he'd missed this part, how he'd missed riding around with a gay Canadian dressed all in red, day in and day out. Some fucking great detective he turned out to be. It hurt like hell that Fraser kept such a humdinger of a secret when Ray thought he knew everything there was to tell about his best buddy ever. Ray cleared his throat, his voice strained. "I guess, I just thought you trusted me more than that." 

"I do trust you, Ray. I trust you more than anyone in my life." 

"But not enough to come out to." 

Frowning, Fraser stood and picked up his hat. "I'm sorry, Ray. I never meant to offend you. I'll be leaving." 

"Oh no you don't." 

"No?" 

"No. Sit back down. We're not finished." Reluctantly, Fraser obeyed, but didn't talk. "Okay, look, you have to understand, I'm kind of thrown right now, but it's not because you're gay. That's not a problem for me, never has been, never will be. It's that you didn't tell me." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Sure I'm sure. I don't care if you're gay, but if you don't trust me, then that's a whole 'nother stinky kettle of fish." 

"I do trust you, Ray." 

"Then prove it." 

"How?" 

"Tell me the truth. Tell me the real reason you didn't tell me." 

Fraser gulped, his face suddenly red as he tugged at his high collar and refused to even look in Ray's direction. "Ray, please." 

"Please what? You tell the truth about everything else, so why should this be any different, unless the truth in this case is...oh, shit." Ray froze. "Oh, shit, Fraser. Tell me that's not it." 

"Tell you what's not it, Ray?" 

"That you've got a thing for me." 

"A thing?" 

"You know, a thing, a thing where you like me." 

"Well, of course I like you, Ray. You're my best friend." 

"I mean more than like, Fraser." 

Fraser dropped his head and closed his eyes. "If it's a matter of degree, then, yes, perhaps one could say I have a thing for you, Ray." 

"Shit." 

"I'm sorry it disturbs you." 

"Disturbs? Disturbs is where assholes whack people, Fraser. This isn't disturbs, this is slack-jawed, knock me over with a feather, stunned speechless, that's what this is." 

Fraser finally looked up and cleared his throat. "You're still talking so you're not technically speechless, Ray." 

"Shut up, Fraser." 

"Understood." 

Ray took several deep breaths and rubbed his face hard with both hands. He shuddered and then settled down in the sofa. Throat tight, he managed to speak again, the revelation moving his mind to new terrain, not completely new territory for him, but new for him and Fraser. Shit. "Okay, okay, it's not a big deal." 

"Actually, it is a big deal, Ray." 

"Yeah?" 

"If you're offended by my feelings, then it's a very big deal." 

"I'm not offended. Surprised and flattered, but not offended. I just wasn't ready to hear it. I mean, you've got to give me a minute to shift gears here, Fraser. This isn't something I saw coming. I hit the wall going full out, and I'm still a little dazed. Just give me a minute to get used to the idea, that's all." 

"Certainly, Ray." 

After a long silence, Ray finally spoke, his words still too tight. "How long?" 

"How long what?" 

"Don't play verbal footsies, Frase. How long have you had a thing for me?" 

"That depends." 

"Depends?" 

"On how you define attraction." 

"Cut to the chase. When did you want me?" 

"From the very beginning." Fraser lifted his head, his face open as he stared directly at Ray, no longer embarrassed or faltering. "The first time I saw you, I had an immediate physical reaction." 

"Immediate?" 

"Immediate, almost to the point of embarrassing myself. Then I pushed those feelings aside and set about trying to figure out the mystery of the new Ray Vecchio. The whole day was quite surreal, the burning house, the exploding car, our driving into the Lake they call Michigan. But then it all became very real, Ray. You stepped in front of that bullet to save my life." 

"I had on a vest." 

"I was unaware of that fact and you didn't know she wouldn't lift her arm just a few inches higher and shoot you in the head." 

Ray's mouth went dry at the memory. "She had the look and I saw her twitch. I knew she was going to pull the trigger. I couldn't let her shoot you." 

"I know that." Fraser whispered, "Ever since that day, you've never left my thoughts, Ray, not completely." 

"What about the lady bounty hunter? I know you had eyes for her. And you even tried it on with the Ice Queen, bought flowers and everything. What was all that, some kind of smokescreen to throw me off?" 

Fraser sat back, his face suddenly very sad. "I suppose I tried to distract myself from my real feelings. I enjoy your friendship, Ray, but it's not always enough. I get lonely." 

Ray's chest tightened. "Lonely?" 

"Yes, Ray, lonely. I must confess that as I grow older, I also have an increasing desire for intimacy." 

Licking his lower lip, Ray took a couple of deep breaths before he dived in any deeper. "Intimacy, as in intimacy intimacy or intimacy as in sex?" 

Fraser frowned. "I don't understand the distinction." 

"I'm asking if you wanted to be intimate as in getting laid or if you wanted more than that, real romance, like dancing the night away, wine and roses, that kind of intimacy." 

"I could never just have a sexual encounter without a much deeper connection. I'm not one for casual relationships." 

"Me, neither." 

"I know." 

"You know?" 

Fraser's expression darkened. "I've been on the sidelines watching your dance with Stella for some time now, Ray." 

"Yeah, some dance, the Stella Stomp. Not a great rhythm." Ray got up, his heart aching, his mind all jumpy. "I can't deal with this right now. I've got to think." 

"Think about what?" 

"You, me, you not telling me what you should've told me, you being lonely. Pick one." 

"Ray..." 

Holding up a hand, Ray shook his head. "Don't. Let's go run down those leads on the Martin case first. We'll talk about this later." 

"I should point out that there's really nothing left to discuss." 

Ray snorted. "You think you're getting off that easy? Forget about it. You, me, tonight, my place, we're going to figure out what to do about this mess." 

"I really don't see what there is to do, Ray. I've confessed my feelings. What exactly is there to do about that?" 

Ray tapped the side of his temple, smiling, his voice back to its natural cadence. "See, that's why I'm a detective. I figure these things out." He opened the door and motioned for Fraser to leave. 

Fraser stood up, shaking his head while he put on his hat. "I think that blow addled your thinking, Ray. You're not making sense." 

"More sense than I'll make if you don't move your Canadian ass a little bit faster. I've got bad guys to chase and puzzles to solve. I think better on my feet, staying in motion, keeping busy." 

"And I'm your puzzle?" 

"You're part of the puzzle, not the whole thing." Ray locked the door to his apartment and headed down the stairs, Fraser and Dief right behind him. 

Ray grinned as he listened to Fraser talk to the wolf. "Yes, I know. Stay alert. He's acting very strangely." 

Fraser had no clue just how strange a Chicago flatfoot could get with the right circumstance and motivation. 

* * *

Ray didn't see the first fist or the two by four right behind it. He went down the flight of stairs hard, barely paying attention to the flashes of red and the growl of the angry wolf that happened just to the edge of his narrowed vision. 

Lying flat on his back, his head pounding, he woke up to a hand in the middle of his chest holding him down. "Don't move, Ray. An ambulance is on its way." 

Ray tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't work. He swallowed hard, blinked a few times, and suddenly understood his partner's alarmed expression. "Ray, Ray, Ray, can you hear me?" 

A few blinks later, everything went cold and dark as Ray listened to the dreaded sound of sirens that covered up Fraser's soft prayers. He wondered if anyone would bother to phone his mum and dad about the funeral. 

* * *

"It's not over yet, Son." 

Ray spun around in circles, holding his hand up to his eyes to block out the blinding light of the sun reflected off the miles and miles of unending snow all around him. "Where the fuck am I and who the hell are you?" 

"Language, Son. Profanity is the crutch of the conversational cripple." 

"You're going to need a crutch if you don't tell me what's going on. Who are you?" 

Unperturbed, the shorter man dressed in a funny fur hat and a uniform that looked a lot like Fraser's stood beside him. Hands behind his back, he smiled. "That's not important. What is important is that you have to keep fighting. You never struck me as someone who gave up without getting in a few good punches." 

Ray scratched his head, the sensation weird, like his hand didn't really touch his skin. "Fighting what?" 

"To keep breathing. My son's very fond of you, you know." 

"Yeah, I know. He told me." 

"You should return the favor. You can't have a good partnership if one of you keeps secrets. Believe me, I know." 

Suddenly dizzy, Ray held his head, not wanting to fall, not sure why the hell he was even standing. "I'm not keeping secrets." 

"Oh, you can't lie to me, Son, not now, not here. The thing is, do you really want it to end here?" 

"Here?" 

"The Borderland. It's where a man comes when he hasn't quite decided his path yet." 

"Path?" 

"His path to the afterlife." 

"Shit." 

"Language." 

Suddenly the air thinned as realization hit. "You're Fraser's father, Robert Fraser, the reason why Fraser ended up stuck in Chicago." 

"And you're the Yank." 

"But you're dead." 

"Not by choice." 

"You get a choice?" 

"Sometimes." 

Ray sank down on a nearby block of ice that appeared out of nowhere and didn't feel any colder than sitting on his sofa at home. He shook his head in wonder. "I'm not dead yet?" 

"Not yet, no, however, there's not much time." 

"So this is like a second chance thing?" 

"Apparently." 

"How come? How come I get a second go and you didn't?" 

"I'm dead, Son, not some game show host. I don't have all the answers. I just know my son will suffer irrevocably if you leave him. Benton's a bright lad, but he doesn't make friends easily, never did. You've been good for him. Even a dead man can see that. Go back. Let down your guard and make it work between you two." 

Ray took a deep breath, the air frozen, the icy wind suddenly stinging his skin. The numbness gone, he shook all over, pain creeping in. "How? How do I do that? How do I get there from here?" 

"Close your eyes and think of Benton. He'll be there." 

Fraser's father dissolved as Ray fell backwards, his eyes squeezed shut while he thought only about how much he hoped Fraser would believe him when he told him about his crazy ass dream in the middle of nowhere. 

* * *

A constant hammer blow to the head would've hurt a whole lot less and would've been kinder. Ray groaned and opened his eyes, but just barely. Fraser's weary face greeted him, his voice strained. "Ray?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You're awake." 

Clearing his throat, swallowing nothing by dry, painful air, Ray complained, "Head hurts." 

A tear ran down Fraser's face, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. "You were hit in the head, Ray. You have a serious concussion." 

It all flooded back, the ambush in the warehouse, Martin coming out of nowhere. Ray closed his eyes and prayed his skull wouldn't explode while he could still feel it. "We get Martin?" 

"Yes, along with his brother and cousin, the co-conspirators involved in the burglary ring." 

"Good." 

"You were seriously injured." 

Ray opened his eyes again and studied his partner, the black right eye, the torn and bloody uniform. "You okay?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Dief?" 

"He sustained no injury. You, on the other hand, scared the hell out of me." 

Ray chuckled at the uncharacteristic curse, but regretted it. The IV in his left arm and the tube in his dick stung a warning to stay put. Pain sliced through his brain and he wanted to puke. "I feel sick." 

"It's the concussion. Do you need a tray?" 

"I need a new head or enough drugs to make this one worth keeping." 

Fraser stood by the bed, his expression a little lighter. "Ah, you're irritable. That's always a good sign." 

"Seriously, Fraser, how bad is it?" 

Frowning, Fraser leaned in, his face beyond grim. "You stopped breathing. They had to fibrillate your heart twice." 

"But I got hit in the head. Why would my heart stop?" 

"One is connected to the other, Ray." 

"Oh, yeah. Good point." 

"You've been unconscious for ten hours." 

Suddenly very tired, his head still pounding, Ray wet his lips the best he could. "I dreamed about your dad." 

"My father?" 

"Yeah, he's as bad as you are about not cussing." 

"You saw my father?" 

"Yeah, yeah, he told me to get my ass back here to cover yours. Some dream, huh?" 

Fraser reached over the rail and held his free right hand, his voice whisper soft. "I'm glad you followed orders for once." 

Ray didn't mind the gesture and squeezed back. "Partners in Canada hold hands a lot?" Fraser tried pulling away, but Ray held tight. "Don't. I like it and I need to tell you something, something I should've said before." 

"Ray, you've been injured. We can talk later. I need to tell the doctor and the others you're conscious." 

"Just give me a minute." Ray closed his eyes, the throbbing not letting up, his stomach all twitchy. He rode the nausea a few seconds before he risked meeting Fraser's worried eyes. "Look, it shouldn't take a knock to the head to make me come to my senses, but it did. You need to know the real reason I keep socking Dewey." 

"Which is?" 

"Because he called you queer like it was the worst thing in the world, like it's something to be ashamed of, and I hated his ass for saying that kind of shit." Ray took a few extra breaths. "I hated him because when he said it, it was like he was talking about me, about us. I've been fighting these feelings for a long time for a lot of reasons. When you admitted to being gay today, I didn't really know what to do about it." 

Fraser leaned in, relaxing against the rail, his hand caressing Ray's face. "You're saying it's easier to punch Dewey in the nose than yourself?" 

"Yeah, and more fun, too." 

"No doubt." 

Fraser's touches helped the pain, made him focus more on the contact than the horrible headache. "Feels good. Thanks." 

Pressing the call button, Fraser continued cupping his cheek until the nurses and doctors poured in and forced him out. Ray got through the name, date, and who's your president quiz without faltering too much, but like always, he stumbled over the math problems. "Look, Doc, I couldn't do numbers even before I got whacked. Don't expect too much, okay?" 

A dark-haired, middle-aged white man with brown eyes smiled patiently. "I understand." He covered up his ID tag. "Now, what's my name again?" 

"Did you introduce yourself already?" 

"I did. Do you remember?" 

"Sorry, Doc. Couldn't tell you." 

Nodding, the doctor made a notation. "My name's Dr. Carlson. I'm a neurologist and I admitted you after you were revived in the ER. You'll be here for a few days until we can assess you completely." 

"But I'm okay overall, right?" 

"You seem to be doing quite well. However, severe blunt trauma to the head is very tricky, Detective. We want to be sure to monitor any sudden changes should they occur." 

"That's the reason I don't even get an aspirin, huh?" 

"Unfortunately, pain medications can mask important symptoms of life-threatening complications. However, we'll try to make you as comfortable as possible." Carlson covered his name tag again. "Do you remember my name now, Detective?" 

Ray opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again. He frowned, and then panicked. "Shit. I don't remember. You just told me and I don't remember." 

Carlson touched his arm, his voice neutral, but his face not fit for poker. "It's all right, Detective. Calm down. It's not that unusual to have trouble with short term memory formation after a severe head injury. It's usually only temporary." 

"What's your name again?" 

"Carlson." 

Ray said it out loud, trying the rote method to get it in his leaky head. "Carlson, Carlson, Carlson." 

"Yes, that's right. Very good. Now, just relax. I'll let you rest a bit and drop by later to check on you. Would you like your friend to come back in now?" 

"Friend?" 

"Your partner." 

"Oh, right, yeah, send him in." 

The doctor headed out the door, the nurse right behind him. Ray dropped his head back on the pillow. "Shit." 

"Ray, what's wrong?" 

"I can't remember stuff." 

"Of course you can. You remembered our conversation from earlier today, your fisticuffs with Detective Dewey, and what happened when we went to arrest Martin. I'd say your memory is quite good considering Martin tried to take your head off with what amounts to a fence post." 

"That guy that just left?" 

"Dr. Carlson?" 

"Yeah, him, I can't remember his name." 

"You just did." 

"No, you did." 

"Ah. Well, I'm sure it's only temporary." 

"You don't know that." 

"Didn't Dr. Carlson say that?" 

"Fuck, Fraser, that's what I'm trying to tell you. I don't remember. I don't remember what he said, or his name, or what he looks like now that he's out the damn door." 

Fraser took his hand and spoke in a hush. "Calm down, Ray. You're making too much of this. We don't know that this condition is permanent." 

"But it could be." 

"You could be dead, too. I, for one, am quite happy you're not. We'll worry about the other problem later if it doesn't improve during your stay here." 

"But what if..." 

"No what ifs, Ray. Close your eyes and rest." 

"But..." 

"Rest." 

Ray wanted to protest more, wanted to share his worry, but instead did what Fraser wanted. He drifted and relaxed, Fraser's voice like a gentle lapping of waves that made him less scared, less afraid of waking up stupid and too damaged to be a good cop. 

* * *

"Don't tell me." Ray closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead, wishing like hell he could get just one sequence right, just one. "Squirrel, duck, tree?" 

"I'm afraid not, Ray." 

"Fuck." 

"You're trying too hard. The doctor said we didn't need to worry about this unless the problem persisted for several weeks. It's only been a few days." 

Ray looked up, flustered. "When did he say that?" 

"When he was here a little while ago." 

"See, I don't remember that." 

"But you will eventually. You're already doing much better. Your reflexes have improved, you're not as nauseated, and your vision is less blurred." 

"I can't get up." 

"Only because they want you to rest awhile longer. You're too impatient, Ray. You really are doing very well." 

"Compared to a tree stump maybe." 

Instead of arguing, Fraser put the flashcards away. He stepped to the window and tapped one of the balloons in the bouquet with the smiley faces. Ray cleared his throat and worked to keep his voice steady. "Look, I'm sorry. This is all just really weird." 

Fraser turned, leaning against the window sill, his arms crossed around his chest. He dressed in street clothes, jeans, grey flannel over a Henley. "I know, Ray. You just have to trust me. No matter what happens, you're going to be all right." 

"But you don't know that." 

"I have faith." 

"In what? In God? You know how I feel about church and all that stuff." 

"I was talking about my faith in you and your strength, Ray. You'll come back from this. Besides, I've never known anyone more hard-headed than you. For once that works in your favor." 

Ray snorted in amusement. "Got the hard head from my dad." 

"So he mentioned." 

"When?" 

Fraser frowned again and stepped to the bed. "You don't remember?" 

"Remember what?" 

"Both your mother and father dropped by this morning. You chatted for almost ten minutes. They said they'd be back tomorrow morning to see you again." 

Heart sinking, Ray closed his eyes and tried to picture his parents' visit, but shook his head. He drew a complete blank, the whole day just about empty. "No, I don't remember. Anybody else drop by I should know about?" 

"The Lieutenant, Francesca, and her mother have been here, as well as Detective Huey, though just briefly." 

Ray frantically scanned back through the day and once again found nothing, no faces, no talks, nothing. "Blank. It's not there, Fraser. It's like I just woke up. It's weird." 

"And I would imagine quite frightening." 

"Scary as hell." Fraser took his hand and held it, quietly doing what Ray needed most. "Fraser?" 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Could I call you Ben?" 

Fraser bit his lower lip and blinked several times, "Certainly, Ray. I'd like that very much." 

Ray stared at his partner's sad expression, recognizing the hurt, sorry as hell to ever see it. "How many times have I asked you that already?" 

"It doesn't matter, Ray. I'll have the same answer every time." 

* * *

Ray woke up slowly, his brain more fuzzy than achy as he groaned. 

"Ray?" 

"Fraser?" 

Fraser nodded soberly and took his hand. "How are you feeling?" 

"Kind of mushy." 

"Mushy?" 

"It's hard to focus. How long have I been sleeping?" 

"Most of the afternoon. They took you down for a CAT scan earlier." 

Ray vaguely recalled a tunnel, some new faces, but nothing completely clear. "I think I remember. It's hard to say. So, what'd they find? I still have a brain?" 

"You never lost your brain, Ray. It was just a bit bruised and swollen. The latest results haven't come back yet. Your doctor should be in shortly." 

"Doctor?" 

"Yes, Dr. Carlson." 

"Have I met him yet?" 

"Several times over the last three days, yes." 

"Three days?" Ray frowned. "I've been here three days already?" 

"It seems like much longer." 

For the first time, Ray trained his full attention on Fraser. Blood shot eyes got even worse when one was blacked. "You look terrible. You been here the whole time?" 

"I'm fine, Ray. Just worried about you." 

"You getting any sleep at all?" 

"Some, but I must confess the hospital setting is not very conducive for sound sleep." 

"I know that's right." Ray closed his eyes, a faint memory nudging its way to the surface. His throat and chest tightened as he smiled. "Ben." 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Ben." He opened his eyes to see a beautiful smile. "You told me I could call you that." 

"Yes, I did. Many times." 

Relieved, Ray nodded, "Yeah, but I remember this last time. My head doesn't hurt as much and I'm starting to remember a few things. My mom bawled her eyes out this morning, right?" 

"As did your father." 

"My dad cried?" 

Fraser stepped closer to rest an arm on the raised rail. "Well, he waited until he got outside, so you wouldn't see him. He was afraid it would upset you." 

Choked up, Ray touched the button to raise the head of his bed a few degrees. "They brought me the chocolate cookies." 

"Right you are, Ray. You haven't eaten any yet, but it's in the box by the window." 

Ray took Ben's hand and struggled with his own tears. "I remember, Ben. I remember." 

"I'm glad, Ray, but I was never worried." 

Ray studied his partner's solemn, handsome face. "Not even a little bit?" 

Ben didn't hesitate. "Not even a second." 

"You're something else, you know that? How do you do that, that faith thing? I never could. Doubting Thomas, that's me. I doubt everything." 

"Everything, Ray?" 

"Seems like." 

Ben squeezed his hand and whispered, "I love you. Do you doubt that?" 

Warm and tingly all over, Ray smiled. "No, Ben, I don't doubt that. What about you, you think I love you, too?" 

"Do you?" 

Ray frowned. "You think I don't?" 

"You've never said." The voice soft, the tone pleading. 

Squeezing Ben's hand, Ray whispered what he'd known for a long time. "Yeah, I do." 

"Then I believe it." 

"No doubts, no reservations?" 

"Without question, Ray." 

Bringing Ben's hand to his face, Ray kissed it, his pain forgotten, his relieved spirit slapping down his cynical nature. "I'm not an easy person, Ben. I've got faults." 

"I'm in love, Ray, not blind." Ben kissed his forehead as he added, "We both have peculiar natures, Ray. Partnership is about fitting together and I think we do that very well." 

"On the streets, yeah, but what about other places?" 

"I think our friendship outside the workplace has shown that." 

Ray sighed in frustration. "I know, but what about the other?" 

"Other?" 

"You know, other, as in that intimacy stuff you were talking about? I want that, too, but I've been burned before. It scares me." 

"I've been singed rather soundly myself, Ray. However, I think we can make our own flame without being destroyed by it." Ben bent down even closer, his mouth only a few inches from Ray's. "I truly believe we can make this work, Ray, if you're willing to risk it." 

"Are you?" 

Smiling again, Ben nodded as he repeated himself. "Without question." 

Raising his head slightly, Ray brushed his lips against Ben's and then pressed harder, the kiss brief, just a taste, just enough to get his heart pumping faster and his mind racing to places he'd avoided for too long. "You think this guy will spring me today?" 

"Spring you?" 

"You know, let's me out, let's me go home so we can work on that intimacy thing between us." 

"You're not even allowed out of bed yet, Ray." 

"This isn't the bed I want to be in, Ben." 

Ben flushed to his ear tips and stood up, clearing his throat. "I think I'll go see what's keeping Dr. Carlson." 

As Ben left, Ray laughed to himself, knowing that his second chance would never be wasted. 

* * *

The End


End file.
